


I Must Follow a Star

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crossdressing Character, F/M, Fluff, Genderqueer Character, M/M, Mafia AU, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:26:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mafia AU I promised. Perhaps I'm flattering myself by saying it won't be <i>exactly</i> what you expect. But we'll see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The thing about the Hobbits was that they were as much a family as they were a Family.

 

It explained the prevalent curly hair (on their heads and their _feet_ , oddly enough) and short stature in the community. Some even attributed their love of food as a familial trait that passed down from generation to generation. But the point was that the Tooks and Brandybucks and Boffins and Proudfoots and Hardbottles and Bracegirdles (and many, many others) that made up most of the population of the Shire were more often than not related – whether by blood or by marriage.

 

Of all these families, though, special mention must be made of the oldest and most respectable of them; the Bagginses were the founders of the Hobbits, back when their ancestors had immigrated to the Shire from the outskirts of Rohan. They had a reputation for being pernickety and fastidious – although it must be said that certain members (who had married in) were more _colourful_ than others.

 

Bilbo Baggins, following in his parents’ footsteps, was the current head of the Hobbits. Bungo Baggins had been the youngest ever head of the Family, and had died of kidney failure as a result of his poorly-controlled diabetes. Instead of succumbing to her grief, Belladonna Baggins nee Took had taken control of the Hobbits and – as she’d been fond of telling her then-young son – whipped them back into shape.

 

He missed them both something fierce. But time went on. _C’est la vie_ , and all that.

 

Bilbo hadn’t particularly wanted to take charge of the Family – he’d’ve been quite happy to scrawl in his notebook in his comfortable study and look after a simple window box. Alas, Bungo and Belladonna had only had one child, and he’d been the only Baggins of his generation that’d been vaguely suitable.

 

Of course, his (many) cousins were quick to reassure him that he was definitely more than suitable. But they were cousins – as well as ‘employees’ – and were meant to say such things.

 

All things considered, though, Bilbo thought that he was doing a passable job of it. A good job, even. He was close to all his Thains and had no problems with them. Crime was at an all-time low, and the farming output was plentiful, taking into account the powdery mildew scare earlier this year.

 

Today all he _really_ needed to see to were the Cottons; there’d been some problems with their latest shipments of mushrooms and because Bilbo believed in a hands-on approach to solving problems, he was on his way to their compound right now.

 

(There were other issues that required his attention, but as they were not actual problems he figured they could wait for a weekday.)

 

He would have much preferred to ride his bicycle rather than drive this silly ‘Blue Motion’, but Hamfast (his gardener-slash-bodyguard) had insisted that he’d be a neon-painted target if he went around in ‘that rickety old grandma bike’. Seeing as Bilbo had lost his mother to the Wolves because she’d skipped out on her security, he was inclined to listen to Hamfast’s advice. Even if he didn’t like it.

 

Lily Cotton came out to greet him even before he’d put the car in park. She hugged him warmly despite the clear undercurrent of worry in her green eyes.

 

Bilbo hid his frown.

 

“Tolman’s inside. Come in, do. I’ve some tea and pineapple cake all set up.”

 

Tolman was indeed waiting inside their little cottage, and was a touch better at hiding his anxiety. But not by much. Bilbo didn’t wait for him to start slicing the cake (delicious as it looked).

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Lily and Tolman exchanged glances. Finally the patriarch of the Cotton family spoke.

 

“It’s really nothing, Bilbo.”

 

“Don’t expect me to believe that, either of you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hamfast slip into the room. “And before you start insisting that it’s none of my concern, let me remind you that it _is_ – even if it has nothing to do with your sudden production decrease.”

 

Lily unhappily twirled a curl of hair around her fingers. “It has to do with that. We… we thought we’d handle it by ourselves, you see, since it’s a small thing.”

 

“Small enough to noticeably dent your shipments,” Bilbo commented sarcastically. Lily hung her head.

 

“We’ve almost settled it,” Tolman muttered. “Except then you called, so –”

 

“Be careful, Tolman,” Bilbo said mildly, and the man snapped his mouth shut. “Tell me what is going on, and do it clearly. I don’t want any more of this mysterious nonsense.”

 

Fiddling with the milk jug, Lily finally admitted, “There’ve been thieves. Near as we can tell, there are two of them.”

 

Bilbo’s eyes were wide. “How much have these two been _stealing_?”

 

“It’s not the amount so much as the damage. First day they came in they completely wrecked the irrigation system. We’ve got it repaired, but it took us awhile. As you’ve noticed.”

 

Bilbo shook his head. “And these saboteurs of yours? Have they been visiting every day?”

 

“They don’t steal regularly.” She bit her lip. “And they don’t seem like saboteurs.”

 

“Just clumsy?” His tone was perhaps a little more scathing than Lily deserved, but she seemed not to notice, nodding emphatically.

 

“In fact, I’d say that they were –”

 

A sharp _rat-tat-tat_ sounded at the door, and Hamfast opened it to reveal Carl, Lily’ and Tolman’s second son.

 

“We’ve caught ‘em, Ma, Pa.” He glanced at Bilbo and thumbed the brim of his cap. “Hullo, Mr. Baggins.”

 

“You look well, Carl.” The boy had grown like a weed. Bilbo smiled and turned to the heads of the Cotton family. “Bring the thieves here, I think?”

 

Though it was phrased as a request, Tolman and Lily were aware enough to know when Bilbo was giving an order. As their son fetched the two thieves, Tolman cut the cake into neat slices and Lily got up to stand behind Bilbo’s chair. Her smile was a little strained when he complimented her baking.

 

When the door opened again, Bilbo was surprised to be faced with two _children_.

 

They were grubby and wore mismatched and patched clothing. They had enough similarities in their faces and bearing to be brothers (Bilbo had an eye for that sort of thing). The blond was clearly the elder of the two; his glare was impressive as he attempted to shield his brown-haired brother. Both looked far too thin, and Bilbo’s heart went out to them.

 

But. They’d done damage to Cotton property – _Hobbit_ property –, and had stolen besides.

 

He interlaced his fingers and placed them on the table. “So. Who are you?”

 

The blond continued glaring as he kept his mouth shut. Bilbo had a moment to wonder sadly what had happened to make him so distrustful before a soft voice broke into his thoughts.

 

“M’name’s Kíli,” said the smaller boy.

 

“Kíli! You’re not supposed to say!”

 

The boy – Kíli – stared up at his older brother with a bewildered expression. “Why not?” he asked.

 

“Just – you’re not supposed to! Uncle said.”

 

Kíli’s face crumpled at this, and his brother hurriedly took his hand. Obviously they held this uncle of theirs in high regard. Which begged the question…

 

“Where are your parents?” He asked this with the hope that they still had parents (unlike him)… but the blond one was inclined to be belligerent.

 

“What’re you going to do to us? All we did was take a few mushrooms.”

 

“We was hungry,” Kíli said, and buried his face in his brother’s arm.

 

“Are you still hungry?” Bilbo asked gently, and waited for Kíli’s shy nod. “There’s cake, if you want some.”

 

Brown eyes lit up, but the older boy scowled. “We don’t want your cake,” he spat.

 

“But _Fíli_ …”

 

Fíli and Kíli, then. Definitely brothers.

 

“I can promise that it’s perfectly safe. Have a seat.” Bilbo raised an eyebrow at Lily’s frown. “Tolman, if you would.”

 

Kíli had no qualms about clambering onto a chair and shovelling cake into his mouth with his bare hands. Fíli sat straight-backed beside him, holding his fork like he planned on stabbing someone.

 

Hamfast, who’d noticed this, discreetly put himself between Bilbo and the boy.

 

“Please tell me why you stole the mushrooms.”

 

“We told you. We were hungry.”

 

Bilbo cast a look at Fíli’s untouched plate. The boy quickly took a bite of cake, chewing pointedly.

 

“That may be, but you two’ve gone and damaged some very important – and expensive – equipment.” He watched Fíli pale as Kíli glanced up at him guiltily. “Even if you hadn’t, I’d still need to talk to your parents.”

 

“They’re dead,” Fíli said flatly, and Bilbo’s heart plummeted.

 

“No, they’re not!” Kíli looked close to tears again, even with cake smeared around his mouth.

 

“Kíli, will you _shut up_?”

 

He ignored this, turning beseeching eyes to Bilbo. “Da’s sick and Ma’s too worried ‘bout him. We only wanted to help, honest! Please don’t kill us, Mister!”

 

Unable to help himself – because he suddenly seemed to have developed a mothering complex the size of Mirkwood – Bilbo rose to his feet and enfolded Kíli into his arms. He winced when the boy wiped his face on his waistcoat, but still held him close.

 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said softly, running his fingers (or trying to) through Kíli’s matted hair. “I want to help. But first you have to tell me where to find your parents so I can speak with them.”

 

Kíli clung to him tightly, and Fíli stared at his brother for a long moment. Finally, he muttered, “We’re staying by the river. The Brandywine.”

 

“The gypsies,” Hamfast murmured, and Bilbo’s eyes snapped to his oldest friend in surprise.

 

The gypsies. Just brilliant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Durin family was cursed.

The Durin family was cursed.

 

This was nonsense, of course. Any sane person would tell you that there was no such thing as curses. It wasn’t as if they’d found a mystical diamond that drove them mad with gold lust, or if they’d caught the attention of a wrathful dragon. This was not some kind of fairytale.

 

The whispers followed nonetheless that tragedy and that family went hand in hand.

 

The head of the Durins murdered brutally, followed by his daughter-in-law. His son had gone mad and offed himself. His grandchildren had been disgraced and run out of town. His great-grandchildren were forced to live their life on the road.

 

Thorin, the oldest of his siblings and the current head of the Durins, knew that this was not due to any kind of curse. He refused to think that there was any supernatural influence at play. No, all of this had happened for a reason, and it was a simple one: a man.

 

Azog.

 

Years ago, Thorin had been idealistic. He’d thought to liberate the city of Moria, his city. He’d been a police officer, ‘wet behind the ears’, and he’d been advised against trying to take on the Mob. But that advice had been given by fellow cops who were being supplemented with drug and prostitution money, and that alone had made Thorin grit his teeth in anger. Gangsters had no right to push their tentacles into every aspect of everyday life. Civilians shouldn’t have to pay protection money. The city shouldn’t be a hive for trafficking and crime.

 

So he’d recruited who he could, and he’d led the charge against the Orcs. He’d even killed their leader, Azog; both of them out of bullets, the bald crime lord had had him pinned to the floor with a boot to the throat. Miraculously, Thorin had managed to reach for his knife and stabbed Azog through the arm. In the ensuing struggle, it’d been ripped clean off at the elbow.

 

He could remember the screams. He could also remember the satisfaction.

 

But even leaderless, the Orcs had run them out of town. It wasn’t safe for any of their (remaining) number, or their families. Thorin had been forced, limping and bleeding, to force his sister and her husband out of their bed (and their young son out of his crib). He’d been forced to explain hurriedly that they were in danger. He’d endured the slap delivered to him, and was given as best medical attention as Dís had been able to give under the circumstances as Víli quickly packed for their new life on the road. Frerin arrived within ten minutes with a car full of whatever supplies that’d been scrounged up.

 

And that had been that. Now they travelled where their feet took them, taking what work they could, never settling in one place because they’d never been welcome anywhere. Gypsies, they were called. Squatters. Vagabonds. Criminals. All that and more, for all that Thorin kept their company to a strict code of conduct. They were impoverished, but they would not descend to the level of Azog and his ilk.

 

He had lost everything, but he’d be damned if he lost his honour.

 

So they survived. It was difficult, but they were somehow still alive. They’d only just arrived in the Shire, and were camped by their biggest river, the Brandywine. It was an extremely green country from what they’d seen, and a few of his company had asked if they could stay longer so that they could at least try to grow some vegetables – it wouldn’t be much, but having fresh greens was better than living on canned beans and pasta.

 

Thorin was inclined to stay, just for that. The thing was, he felt… almost peaceful, here. Apparently the near city of Hobbiton was a model for others in Eriador; crime was almost nonexistent, the people prospered on mostly agriculture and agricultural tourism, no one had run them off – and that last was possibly the most important factor of all. He was going to announce that they’d only move on after winter, and he was going to do it today, seeing as his mood was rather good.

 

It was a mood that came crashing down around his ears once Dís came to him, mouth tight.

 

“They’re gone.”

 

He narrowed his eyes at his sister. “Who’s gone?”

 

“They’ve been disappearing on and off for a couple of weeks, now. I haven’t really been paying as much attention as I should have, considering Víli’s condition.” Her husband had been battling a rattling cough for many months, and it was only growing worse as time went on – seeing as they could not afford the proper medicine.

 

“Dís, please just spit it out.” Given the chance, his sister (and their other sibling) would take a full conversation to convey information that could’ve been contained in a single sentence.

 

“Fíli and Kíli are missing.”

 

Fear shot through his chest. It felt like being stabbed by an icicle. “How long?”

 

“They left this morning. I don’t like this, Thorin. I asked around.”

 

“ _And_?”

 

“And no one had any news – well. Except for Bombur.”

 

He gritted his teeth. Dís was going to lead him to an early grave at this rate – she and her sons. “What did he say?”

 

“You know the mushrooms he’s been using for our dinners these past few weeks?”

 

Thorin nodded – he was just about sick of them, if he was brutally honest. Good protein source be damned.

 

“They’ve been supplying it.”

 

Which meant… either they’d stumbled upon a huge mushroom patch (and miraculously not poisoned them all), or they were stealing. And seeing as they were missing, and how they’d kept their escapades quiet, the latter seemed the more likely option. Fuck. If they’d been caught and sent to the police, then…

 

“Did Bombur know where –?”

 

She shook her head unhappily. From the way her hands shook, Thorin could tell that she was extremely angry. If – no, not if, _when_ – Fíli and Kíli returned, there were definitely going to be fireworks.

 

Thorin breathed deeply for a moment. “Have you mentioned anything to Víli?”

 

“No. The idiot would try to look for them himself.” At least she acknowledged that her husband could be a fool… though perhaps it was justified. Thorin didn’t know what he’d do if his own sons were missing.

 

Or, rather, he did. Fíli and Kíli were as good as his own children, after all. “Well, then, we’ll just have to –”

“Thorin!”

 

Both Thorin and Dís turned at the shout, watching as Bofur jogged towards them (his hat somehow not jostling off his head in the process). “What?”

 

“There’s a stranger by the road. Dwalin’s looking after him.” Bofur’s eyes flicked towards Dís. “E’s got the two little ‘uns.”

 

The words were barely out of his mouth before the two siblings were tearing off. The fact that Fíli and Kíli were still alive was a relief, as was the fact that Dwalin now had his eye on them (and the stranger). Dwalin’s presence also meant that the stranger was not threatening to hurt the boys; if there’d even been a hint of such a thing, Dwalin would have been dragging that person’s corpse towards them now.

 

Perhaps a little morbid, but they could no longer afford to be cautious.

 

“Ma!” Kíli called, and waved.

 

Fíli ran straight into his mother’s arms, letting her fuss and coo over him with only a little irritableness. His brother could not run, because he was happily wrapped around the stranger Bofur had mentioned. Dwalin was glaring.

 

Thorin met the hazel eyes of the small man; he was a head shorter than Thorin himself, soft-looking and a little round around the middle. He was fussily dressed – only a fussy person would wear butter-yellow suspenders with brown trousers and a light blue button-down – but had slippers on his feet. His hair was devilishly curly and he had a small smile on his face, looking entirely too comfortable with Kíli in his arms.

 

“Who are you?” Thorin asked without preamble.

 

“Boggins!” Kíli exclaimed, squeezing the man – ‘Boggins’? What a stupid name – around the neck.

 

He coughed. “Bilbo Baggins.” That wasn’t much better. He paused as if waiting for some sort of reaction, which was not forthcoming. All the ‘gypsies’ present – Fíli included, and Kíli excluded – stared at him with varying degrees of distrust. Bilbo coughed again. “I came to see the boys’ parents.”

 

“Why?” Dís had her hands tight on Fíli’s shoulders, looking like she was ready to rip her youngest from Baggins’ hold.

 

“They were caught stealing. Not only that, they damaged some very expensive equipment.”

 

Thorin wanted to shut his eyes and curse… but he didn’t. What he said was, “Very well. How much is owed?”

 

“The owners aren’t pressing charges. As I said, I wanted to talk to their parents.”

 

Dís caught his eye; Thorin nodded. “I’m their mother,” she said, chin lifted. “What is it that you want from me?”

 

The short man looked sad, and Thorin wanted to punch the expression off his face. “I want to know how two young boys have turned to thieving. But, considering the circumstances, I suppose it was inevitable.”

 

Dwalin growled, and Thorin’s fist clenched. “Look, clearly you’ve figured it out, and you can clearly see that we don’t need you poking your nose into our business. So hand Kíli over, unless you want my cousin over there to break your arms.”

 

Rather than being intimidated by this, Baggins rolled his eyes. “Very polite. Considering that I stepped in before your two boys were arrested –”

 

“ _You_ stepped in? Why would you do that?” Thorin considered the careful way he handled Kíli, and decided to amend his question. “ _How_ could you do that? Are you the mayor, or something?”

 

He seemed to hesitate. “Something like that.”

 

This time Thorin’s eyes did slide closed. Great. Just great. They were going to be asked to leave, and by none other than the leader of Hobbiton at that. So much for staying.

 

“Please, can you tell me your names? It’s terribly rude if I refer to you as ‘You’.”

 

What an _utterly_ idiotic thing to be worried about. “Oakenshield,” Thorin grunted. His sister and his cousin kept silent.

 

“Look, all I wanted to ask, really, is why are you camped out here? Why don’t you go into the city?”

 

That… that wasn’t what he expected Baggins to say. Thorin opened his eyes, noting that Dís and Dwalin looked as surprised as he felt. Then the full weight of Baggins’ words caught up with him and he bristled.

 

“We don’t want your charity.”

 

“And yet it’s freely given. Swallow your fool pride, Oakenshield. We have jobs to offer you and yours. We have places for you to stay until you’ve found your feet.”

 

Dís placed a hand on Thorin’s arm, quieting whatever it was he’d been about to say. Her eyes were on the man holding her son. “Why are you offering us this? Others in your place would insist we leave and never return.”

 

Bilbo adjusted Kíli’s position on his hip, smiling at the boy. “Because little boys deserve to have cake when they want. And their family deserves to not go hungry trying to provide it in the first place.”

 

“Cake!” Kíli exclaimed. “Boggins gave us cake!”

 

“I did. Maybe if you’re allowed to, you can come help me bake one. Does that sound fun?”

 

He nodded vigorously. “Fíli you hafta come too!”

 

His brother looked guarded, and Thorin grimaced when the lad looked up at him for permission. Fíli had been forced to grow up too fast, and too untrustworthy. That was his fault.

 

Dís’ fingers tightened enough that Thorin winced and glanced at her. “ _We’ll need to talk to everyone. You can’t make this decision on your own._ ”

 

“ _You trust him_?”

 

“ _Look how he handles my Kíli, Thorin. He doesn’t mean us harm._ ”

 

“ _That’s yet to be decided_ ,” Dwalin said, snorting. “ _But I agree with the princess_.” Dís bristled at the old nickname. “ _We’ll have to ask the others._ ”

 

Thorin bared his teeth, but lifted a hand and beckoned to Baggins. “Come, then. We’re going to talk to the rest.”

 

“Ah.” Bilbo set Kíli down gently, much to the boy’s disappointment. “Just let me tell my gardener.”

 

“Your _gardener_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm glad this has gotten the interest it has - though I rather suspect that's due to the fact that no one's done mafia head!Bilbo yet ;)
> 
> The POVs will be alternating between Bilbo and Thorin. Just a heads up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo meets the rest.

Bilbo didn’t know what he expected, really.

 

He knew, intellectually, that ‘gypsy’ was a general term for nomadic peoples, and an incorrect one at that. He didn’t know if Oakenshield and the rest of his troupe were Romani or not – they didn’t seem to be, but he could always be mistaken –, although he probably wouldn’t have changed his offer even if they were. It was within his power to help these people, and he would. Should they let him.

 

Perhaps he was being too kind. He knew that more than one of the Thains would disagree with this decision. But Bilbo would be firm – and not just because of Kíli and his big brown eyes.

 

…whether or not it had to do with Thorin’s pale blue ones was no one’s business but his own.

 

The camp was a mishmash of vehicles (cars and motorcycles) and tents. Everything in sight seemed to be second- or third-hand, though in as good condition as possible. Bilbo winced as he wondered how much these people spent on petrol. It was hardly cheap, and for them it was a necessity.

 

To think, he’d been complaining about that very thing to his uncles only last week. It made him feel a right cad.

 

He was aware of the eyes on him. These people knew very well that he was not one of theirs; he supposed it was quite obvious. Bilbo tried not to meet anyone’s gaze and instead concentrated on being tugged along by Kíli (it was a relief that he didn’t have to bend awkwardly as they walked; an advantage of being vertically challenged). That was, until Dís stopped her son with a disapproving expression.

 

“Fíli, Kíli. Go and play with Ori.”

 

“But Ma –!”

 

“No buts. You two are in enough trouble as it is.”

 

Kíli pouted mightily, but allowed himself to be tugged away by his brother. He waved forlornly at Bilbo, who would have had to be made of stone to not wave back.

 

“He seems very taken with you.”

 

“I’m sure it’s just the cake,” Bilbo replied absently, before realising that he had no idea who he was talking to. He turned. “Er…”

 

The man grinned. He looked very much like Oakenshield, despite the fact that his hair was as blond as Fíli’s, tied back into a high ponytail. “Frerin. I’m Thorin’s sibling.”

 

Thorin? Who was – oh. Oakenshield must’ve been a surname or nickname. “Bilbo Baggins.” They shook hands.

 

“And I’ll thank you to use the pronoun ‘they’.” Frerin didn’t let go of his hand. H – _their_ smile didn’t falter, but suddenly took on a threatening edge, and Bilbo nodded hurriedly. Frerin nodded back. “C’mon, we’ll be meeting by the oak tree.”

 

Bilbo wasn’t sure if ironic was the appropriate word to use in the circumstances, but if it was, it was ironic that the oak tree Frerin had referred to – the old gnarled thing near the bank of the river – had been the same tree Bilbo had played under as a child. He’d had many adventures by its roots, joining Dwarves and Wizards on quests and battling Goblins and Spiders. (There had been a spider once. Not radioactive, though, and he’d run back home in tears to be soothed by his father’s kisses and his mother’s cream puffs.)

 

Oakenshield – Thorin, rather – stood leaning against the trunk of the tree. His arms were crossed over his chest and his expression was blank as several people gathered around, forming a loose circle. Bilbo was just wondering where he was supposed to go when Thorin beckoned him over. He expected to be glared at some more (he was) but was surprised when Thorin spoke.

 

“This, Baggins, is my Company. If you’re serious about your offer, they are the people you must convince.” He turned to his right and started naming the people present.

 

Dís and Frerin he already knew. Beyond them sat the huge man from earlier; he was introduced as Dwalin, and his brother was Balin. Balin had a kindly disposition and an enormous white beard which rather amazed Bilbo. Bungo had always complained about having crumbs and whatnot get caught in the sparse beard he’d sometimes tried to grow; at that point Belladonna would ‘subtly’ leave out a new razor and complain about beard burn. (The latter had thoroughly scandalised Bilbo once he’d been old enough to figure what it meant.)

 

Then there was Óin and Glóin, also brothers, although there seemed to be a significant age gap between them. Óin used an ear trumpet instead of a hearing aid, and also had a stethoscope around his neck. Glóin’s hair and beard were a shocking red, and in his lap was an infant with equally vivid hair. He was asleep, with his thumb tucked into his mouth, and seemed quite content to ignore everything around him.

 

Dori and Nori were also brothers; it was easy enough to tell who was the elder one with the way that Dori held himself. Nori seemed more shifty, although he winked amiably when he introduced himself to Bilbo. His hair was an impressive collection of braids and dreadlocks, practically dripping in beads and odds-and-ends. Bilbo thought he might have seen a spoon hanging in that fall of auburn hair, but he must have been mistaken.

 

The last three around the circle were Bofur and Bombur, and their cousin Bifur. It was hard to see how they were related; Bombur had near-orange hair and a belly round enough to put his Uncle Fosco’s to shame, Bofur proudly wore a long moustache and a swirly skirt, and Bifur had a massive scar across his forehead and spoke no English.

 

They certainly were an eclectic collection of people, and Bilbo felt very small and very ordinary – never mind that he was in charge of an entire city, and not in an entirely legal sense.

 

Thorin waved a hand at the group he’d introduced as his ‘company’. “You present your case to them, Baggins. We’ll come to a decision collectively.”

 

Bilbo took a breath. Well. No time like the present.

* * *

Convincing the ‘Company’ took longer than Bilbo expected.

 

To be completely truthful, there had been very little convincing on his part. He’d given his little speech, almost verbatim to what he’d told Thorin, and then they’d just exploded in chatter – ‘chatter’ being a very polite word for what they did. It was pure noise, and more than once Bilbo had been worried that a few of them were on the verge of coming to physical blows. Whenever things seemed to be getting too heated, though, Thorin would pointedly clear his throat.

 

When the argument/discussion had reached a peak, Thorin had actually roared out loud in that curious language of theirs. It was a guttural sound on its own, and seemed to command the utmost respect… or perhaps that was just Thorin.

 

Not for the first time, Bilbo wondered what had happened to these people that they’d been forced into this nomadic lifestyle. He wondered who Thorin was to them, exactly (besides family). He wondered why they hadn’t settled down before this.

 

He blinked when Thorin turned to him expectantly. “I’m sorry, was there a question?”

 

Thorin rolled his eyes impatiently, but it was Balin who answered. “Yes, lad. I know you’re the mayor, but how can you guarantee your people won’t just run us out of town?”

 

The way Balin had said ‘mayor’ made Bilbo wonder if his not-carefully-constructed story was going to hold or not. Still. Revealing that he was the Don of the gangsters of the city was a bad idea. Didn’t need much common sense for that.

 

“I know it’s a big promise. But of all of Middle-Earth, the Shire is known for its peaceful living. So long as you don’t stir up trouble, no trouble will come to you.”

 

Bifur hand signed something to Bombur (was it Bombur? He was reasonably sure it was Bombur), who translated: “It’s also said that your people aren’t fond of strangers.”

 

Bilbo shrugged. “Perhaps not, but we’re not as bad as… oh, I don’t know, the people from over the Iron Hills.”

 

A ripple went through the circle. He wondered if he’d said something wrong. He didn’t have time to puzzle over it, because his phone buzzed in his pocket. Hamfast’s message was a pointed comment about not wishing to miss his dinner, but Bilbo could read the undercurrent of worry. He had not been happy to have been left at the perimeter of the gypsies’ encampment.

 

“Is there a problem?”

 

Bilbo looked up and immediately felt embarrassment colour his cheeks. Everyone was staring.

 

“I, er. It’s just that it’s getting a bit late…”

 

Dwalin smirked. “Your gardener getting a bit antsy?”

 

Everyone but Dís and Thorin looked nonplussed at this quip. Dís managed a smirk, while Thorin continued looking unimpressed. Bilbo decided that Thorin unimpressed was at least better than Thorin glaring. (Although, his mind treacherously added, both were still very attractive.)

 

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” said Frerin, who only smiled at the glare Thorin levelled at them. “Oh, come, brother. We’ve not had a guest in ages.”

 

“For good reason. No. We will come up with a decision to Mister Baggins’ offer so that he may leave all the sooner.” He looked down his nose at Bilbo, as if to mentally add ‘And we’ll be better for it’.

 

The discussion was a great deal quieter this time. They seemed to keep it between their little family groups, and then there was a great deal of meaningful glances being exchanged across the clearing. Finally, the one known as Dori spoke up.

 

“We’ll do it. At the very least it’ll be good to stock up on supplies.”

 

“And it’ll keep us out of the rain,” Bofur muttered, glancing up at the sky.

 

Bilbo turned to Thorin with a smile – but the man was having a heated, albeit low-toned, argument with his two siblings. Frerin seemed the most unruffled of the lot, even as Dís and Thorin got increasingly violent with their gesturing. Bilbo hovered uncertainly, watching as Thorin threw his arms up and stalked away.

 

Before he did, though, he made certain to throw a nasty glare Bilbo’s way.

 

“Sorry about that,” Dís said tiredly. “Our brother has… trust issues.”

 

“I’m sure he has good reason,” Bilbo said, more out of politeness than anything. He didn’t miss Frerin’ and Dís’ shared glance.

 

“Anyway! Thank you very much for you offer, Bilbo Baggins.” Frerin bowed elaborately, drawing a smile from Bilbo. “We are in your debt.”

 

The rest of the Company (obviously barring Thorin, who wasn’t there anyway) were of the same mind. He was shuffled around the clearing, shaking hands and returning smiles, feeling a bit like he was part of an odd game of Pass the Parcel – Bilbo was quite grateful none of his clothes were being peeled off. That didn’t mean certain things weren’t missing, however…

 

Just before he had to leave, he turned to Nori. “I’ll have my pocket watch back, please. It was my father’s.”

 

“How did you know?”

 

Bilbo smiled. “My secret.”

 

Nori returned the watch good-naturedly (ignoring Dori’s disapproving glower). Bilbo could only chuckle as he said his goodbyes. He stifled a sigh. He’d go reassure Hamfast that he was safely in one place and then have dinner (fried fish, today). Then he’d have to call the Thains together and inform that that tomorrow they were to house gypsies within Hobbiton (that would be _fun_ ).

 

Well, he would have done, but for an insistent tugging on the bottom of his shirt. Bilbo looked down and kneeled when he saw that it was Kíli. The boy looked shy, his other hand hidden behind his back. He’d somehow gained a twig in his bird’s nest of hair, and Bilbo gently extricated it.

 

“What is it, Kíli?”

 

“Have somethin’ for you, Mr. Boggins.”

 

Before he could ask, Kíli had grabbed his hand and forced something damp into it. Bilbo unfolded his fingers further and felt his heart constrict unfairly. Sat upon his palm was a slightly squished mushroom.

 

Kíli was biting his lip, wringing his hands as he watched carefully for Bilbo’s reaction. He looked to be ready to scarper at a moment’s notice, and it made Bilbo feel all the sadder.

 

Ignoring all the eyes on them (Fíli’s in particular), Bilbo drew Kíli in close for a hug. The boy sniffled a bit and muttered, “‘m sorry for stealing, Mr. Boggins.”

 

“It’s alright, Kíli. I understand why you did it… but you know now that it’s wrong to steal, right?” He smiled when he felt the vigorous nodding, Kíli’s arms struggling to reach around Bilbo’s body. “Good. You and your family are going to be living in the same town I live, so if you’re really good, maybe your parents will let you come visit. Would you like that?”

 

“Will we get t’make cake?” Kíli’s eyes were brown and solemn as he asked this, as if baking was the pinnacle of all human achievement… or at least the pinnacle of his own achievements.

 

“Of course we will. I promise.” Kíli almost strangled him in his enthusiasm to hug him around the neck, and Bilbo managed a chuckle. “Just remember, you have to behave. Not just for cake, but so your parents don’t worry, alright?”

 

“Alright, Mr. Boggins!”

 

Bilbo hid his sigh in Kíli’s hair as he pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed having little children around, and the prospect of having small feet running around in Bag End, well… his parents would’ve loved to be around for that. Even if Kíli wasn’t _his_. And he needed to remember that.

 

Straightening, Bilbo made sure to return the mushroom. “Hang on to that for me, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late(r than usual). 
> 
> I feel like I need to make it clear, Thorin and Co. are not Romani. The use of the term 'gypsy' in this fic is purely as one to refer to nomadic people.  
> Also re Frerin: They are portrayed as genderqueer in this fic. As someone who is not genderqueer, I would love any feedback as to how I write them - and if I make any mistakes, please don't hesitate to correct me. I only ask that you be kind.
> 
> *rubs hands* Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Co settle in.

The fact that they were all settling in easily and well made Thorin angry.

 

Oh, he was grateful. He knew he didn’t deserve this opportunity, especially considering the way he’d treated Baggins. He didn’t deserve this opportunity, considering all the wrong he’d done, but he was glad to have his family with roofs over their heads and warm food in their bellies. They deserved all the kindness the people of Hobbiton offered, even if he himself did not.

 

Be that as it may, Thorin was very capable of compartmentalising his emotions. His anger still burned bright, though it wasn’t directed at Baggins or his townspeople. No, Thorin was angry at… everyone else.

 

Why was it that it was only here, by this short man and this town of similarly statured people, that they were welcomed? They’d spent years on the road. _Years_. Visited damn near every city on the continent, travelled from country to country looking for a place to settle down.

 

Thranduil had been straightforward betrayal. They’d known each other prior to Azog, they’d worked together. Thranduil and his grandfather had been _friends_ , and yet he’d turned them away when Thorin had turned up on his doorstep practically begging for help. He “would not be party to a pointless war with gangsters, not when we’d be stupidly outgunned and outmanned”.

 

The implication in his words was clear, and Thorin would have punched him in his emotionless face – except he’d been running out of time, and running for his life.

 

They had learned quickly that they would always be judged. They were considered criminals and trouble-makers. They couldn’t be allowed near more ‘civilised people’. They were bad luck. They couldn’t be trusted.

 

Even his own _cousin_. Thorin could understand, objectively, that taking in gypsies wasn’t something that most people would be proud of – but this was family. Thorin had faced betrayal after betrayal, but that one had cut deepest.

 

Still. That was now in the past. Now his Company were integral parts of an actual society; they’d been viewed with slight suspicion by the people of Hobbiton, but that was early on into their settlement. Apparently they were content to follow in Baggins’ lead and welcomed the gypsies into their shelters and into their workplaces. There were plenty of jobs to go around, apparently.

 

Thorin had only just finished a stint at the local brewery – the ‘Gaffer’ had needed an extra pair of hands in placing the finings in his cask ale – and had gone to the unemployment office (what a curious place that was) to see if there was any work to be found. This was why he was seen walking down Bagshot Row (for the third time) looking for a ‘Bag End Grocer’s’.

 

When he finally did find it, he supposed that it was a welcoming enough place to work – the door was bright green and the sign above it was painted in curling gold letters. And as places to work went, a grocer’s wasn’t that bad. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Thorin rolled his shoulders, sighed, and knocked on the door.

 

He didn’t expect Bilbo Baggins to open it.

* * *

“I – how is the mayor also a grocer?” Thorin asked incredulously.

 

Bilbo looked uncomfortable for a moment, before smiling and shrugging. “It’s something to pass the time. Family business.” He snickered.

 

Riiight. Thorin cleared his throat. “So, you need help?”

 

“Are you offering your services for the day, or are you actually asking if there’s a place open?”

 

“The woman at the office sent me here.” Thorin rummaged in his pocket and passed Bilbo a folded piece of paper.

 

The grocer didn’t even open it; presumably he only needed a glance at the pale pink stationery and the hint of lavender to know who’d sent it. Some lady called Ruby; Thorin wasn’t really bothered to remember. He’d been happy to hightail it out of her office, seeing as the grin she’d levelled at him as soon as he’d stepped in had been very much reminiscent of a shark. A shark in a purple knitted cardigan.

 

Bilbo quirked his lips at Thorin. “You’ll certainly be helpful when it comes to reaching the high shelves.”

 

“So you’ll have me?”

 

“Yes. It’s not that I can’t manage, mind, but it’s certainly nice to have someone to talk to. Other than – oh gods, I forgot!”

 

Slightly alarmed at the abrupt about-face in demeanour, Thorin watched Bilbo frantically run into the back. He heard the sound of a door opening, the scratch of nails on tiles, and then profuse apologies, oddly, before there was something large and brown and _heading straight for him_.

 

“Minty! Oh, no, I’m so sorry, she loves meeting new people.”

 

“Minty?” Thorin asked, trying not to let the golden slobber all over him.

 

“She tore into my supply of toothpaste as a puppy. It was apt.”

 

“Sit.” He felt absurdly pleased when Minty did, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth as she panted at him happily. “Good girl.”

 

“I can’t tell you how much of a relief it is that you’re alright with dogs. So many people are intimidated by her because of her size.”

 

“Well, can you blame them? Minty’s almost half your weight. And height.” He stroked her head. Her fur was wonderfully soft.

 

“But she’s a sweetheart.”

 

“Yeah, you introduce her to Fíli and Kíli, they’ll never leave her side.” His nephews had an odd obsession with animals. He’d lost count of how many strays they’d tried to smuggle into their home. He’d lost count of how many times he’d had to watch their faces fall as they were told they couldn’t keep their ‘pets’.

 

“Maybe I will.” Bilbo leaned on the countertop, gazing at Minty fondly. “Would you all be free for lunch tomorrow?”

 

Thorin gently removed his drool-covered hand from the dog’s mouth. “I… pardon?”

 

“Lunch, tomorrow. Would you like to come over to my home?”

 

“I thought you’d been more than scarred from our last visit.”

 

A wince raced across Bilbo’s face. “Yes, well, my pantry may never recover from that night. But, er, I meant this to be just your immediate family – Dís and Víli and Frerin and the boys. And you.”

 

Thorin stared. He’d just been invited to a meal at the home of a man he barely knew – a man who was mayor and grocer, and now his employer. Apparently strangeness was not to be a, er, stranger in his life. Would it be so wrong to just go with the flow?

“Well,” he said. “Why not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a good thing my Mum reminded me it's a Saturday o_o
> 
> And about the whole grocery store + Minty... I couldn't help myself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interrogation, dinner, and an accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mention of torture here.

The thing, the thing about Thorin was that he was dangerously attractive.

 

Not dangerous in the sense that he was a gypsy – even ignoring the fact that the man was an ex-policeman and had a very rigid sense of right and wrong, Bilbo rather thought that he was used to that sort of thing. (Case in point, the ‘questioning’ session he was currently sitting in on.) No, the pale-eyed man was dangerous in the sense that Bilbo could already feel his heart breaking.

 

Just yesterday he’d been sitting behind the counter and subtly watching Thorin carry in new crates of bananas. It was a happy happenstance of warm weather that Thorin had decided to wear a black T-shirt instead of his usual long-sleeves; Bilbo was even happier that the exercise had Thorin briefly removing it _in Bilbo’s presence_. It was an _extremely_ enjoyable view.

 

Any plans his mind might have entertained were luckily tempered by the fact that he had sprained his wrist and couldn’t – shouldn’t, rather – put too much strain on it.

 

He placed the palm of his other hand onto the table. Rory Brandybuck caught the motion and immediately stepped back, leaving the man in the chair to slump forward without his support.

 

“Are you ready to speak?” He started to tap his fingers to a tune that’d been stuck in his head for a few days now. (Had Thorin been humming it?) “Because I’m quite interested in who sent you to try to break my wrist.”

 

“Didn’t come here f’r that,” the man muttered. A trail of bloodstained saliva trailed from the corner of his lips. He spat onto the floor, and Bilbo frowned. “Came here t’ – t’ kill you.”

 

Rory made a sound like a growl, and Bilbo’s would-be attacker flinched back.

 

“Alright. The question still stands; who sent you?”

 

He scowled as best he could with half his face swollen to the size of a melon. “Never.”

 

Bilbo sighed. “Rory.”

 

As the muffled cries of pain recommenced, Bilbo resumed his thoughts. (And perhaps it was odd for someone to think about a person they were attracted to while sitting on what was essentially torture – but being the leader of a bunch of gangsters was hardly a usual profession. Just because he considered things like shopping lists and handkerchiefs while centimetres away a man was being punched to within an inch of his life didn’t make him _that_ strange, surely.)

 

Anyway, yes. Thorin. Dangerously attractive.

 

Bilbo prided himself in being realistic to a fault. With his previous, er, experiences with romance, he knew when he had no chance with the person in question (Gilly Brownlock came to mind), and he knew very well to move on while the going was good. It was a principle he held on to, and it’d served him very well; unlike many of his peers, Bilbo didn’t seem to suffer from heartbreak due to unrequited ‘love’. And yet, with Thorin, he found himself acting like a complete _teenager_. He kept thinking of how it would feel to touch those strong arms, of how it would be to lie tangled between the sheets skin-to-skin, of how it would be to share a life together.

 

It was stupid and unrealistic and completely unwise, but he couldn’t help it.

 

He didn’t want to help it.

 

“I’ll tell you everything! _Please_! Please stop!”

 

Bilbo waved a hand and Rory stepped aside again, one hand fisted in a bloodstained collar to hold their prisoner upright. He put thoughts of the future aside. Now was the time for gleaning information. Later he’d see if Thorin would be amenable to dinner.

 

He breathed in and crossed his legs. “Begin.”

* * *

Finding out who it was that wanted him dead was only half of a surprise. It was a good thing that Bilbo already had a contingency plan, and had already put it into action.

 

And, as it turned out, Thorin _was_ amenable to dinner.

* * *

“Thorin, I’ve always wanted to ask… has there been any place where you’ve, you’ve thought you want to ever settle down?”

 

The man looked up from petting Minty. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

 

Bilbo squirmed. He really should’ve kept his mouth shut. But. He’d wanted to find out if he, possibly, had a chance of – well, better not get ahead of himself. “I mean, I mean… you’ve all been moving from city to city for years, right?”

 

Thorin’s gaze descended again. He slowly brought Minty’s fur into tufts before smoothing them flat again. “Yes, that’s right.” A half smile twitched his lips. “Kíli was born while we were near Ered Luin. That was the longest we’d ever stayed anywhere… well, except here.”

 

His heart skipped a little. It made him want to throw up. “Ered Luin… that’s pretty close, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, it is. Have you been?”

 

“Once. My parents brought me to the beach. It was… beautiful.”

 

Thorin smiled at him, and this time Bilbo dropped his gaze and reached out towards Minty. He cleared his throat and summoned his courage. “Why didn’t you stay?”

 

This was met with silence. By the time Bilbo dared to look up, apology on the tip of his tongue, Thorin leaned back with a sigh. “We almost did.”

 

His heart sank. “Why didn’t you?”

 

“I don’t… I don’t really know. It seemed like a suitable place to rebuild ourselves. We had tentative plans, actually, Frerin and I. We could see that most everyone would be able to fit in. But there was just something… off. Something missing.”

 

“I see.”

 

Minty huffed pointedly, and Bilbo hurriedly resumed his petting. Thorin snorted.

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“Oh, I –” _I just wanted to know if you’d stay for long enough for me to be able to date you and get into your pants and get you to love me –_ “I was just wondering. It just, I – I mean no offense, but your way of life it just seems terribly lonely.”

 

Good gods. He’d actually said that out loud, hadn’t he? His parents would kill him for his lack of manners.

 

“It is,” Thorin agreed readily enough. “But I’ve had my family with me. They’re my rock, if you’ll pardon the cliché.”

 

Bilbo hummed. He felt Minty’s heartbeat against his palm and wondered if his own was fluttering quite as fast.

 

“But I will admit,” Thorin said slowly, and Bilbo’s heart rate _definitely_ spiked, “that even with family and friends around, I did, sometimes feel lonely.”

 

In for a penny, in for a pound. “If it’s not too much of an imposition, can I ask – did you ever have someone? Like, like Dís has Víli?”

 

“No. It’s a bit weird, isn’t it? But when I was in my ‘prime dating years’, I was too angry to care about that sort of thing. If anyone tried to get close, I’d push them away.”

 

“And are you still too angry?”

 

Thorin looked at him. Something like realisation skittered across his face. “Was tonight a date?”

 

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, dripping with dignity, “but when I take people out on dates, they’re aware of it.”

 

“The mayor goes out on dates often, does he?” he asked teasingly.

 

“It’s been known to happen, yes.” Bilbo took a breath. Sometimes you just had to just out and say it. Save everyone the trouble. “D’you… d’you think it could happen, with us?”

 

“You want us to date?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Bilbo stared at the poker, trying desperately to think that he’d need to get a new one soon, since the handle was so wobbly. He listened to Minty’s snores – what dog _snored_ , honestly – and just about jumped out of his skin when large, warm fingers cautiously settled over his own.

 

Thorin waited for Bilbo to face him. “Bilbo, I want you to know that I –”

 

“Thorin! _Thorin_!”

 

Both Bilbo and Thorin swivelled their heads to face the doorway; Minty sat up with a start, dislodging their hands.

 

Dís stood in the doorway, wheezing for breath. “It’s Frerin. They’ve been – they’re in hospital, Thorin.” She swallowed, then followed it up with a fit of hacking coughs that had Bilbo hurrying to his feet to fetch her a glass of water. The last thing he heard when he left the room was Thorin. His voice was cold and controlled and nothing like as relaxed as it had been… before.

 

“Tell me everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Frerin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin needs to clear his head.

_Thorin._

_Yes? Yes, Frerin?_

_Thorin, it was him. It was Azog_.

 

Frerin’s hair had been sheared short.

 

They looked strange; Thorin had only seen their hair short when they’d three been children. Golden ringlets that had caused their mother no end of trouble, tangling enough that they constantly needed to be cut. As it’d grown out, it’d become wavy and infinitely more manageable. Thorin ran his fingers through the too-short strands. Frerin didn’t look young now. Their face was bruised, swollen. At least the blood was clean off – that had been a horrifying sight, two nights ago.

 

He leaned down to kiss Frerin’s forehead, and then settled Dís’ shawl around her more securely. It was her turn to watch over Frerin tonight, in case they woke up. She was keeping a brave face, but Víli had confided in Thorin that she would weep bitterly at dawn when she thought him asleep.

 

Those tears were on him. They were his fault. Sure, Víli was now cured but they’d just traded that for Frerin with tubes sticking out of them. It wasn’t any better.

_It was Azog – I’m sorry, I –_

_Frerin, just relax, you’re safe, you’re safe –_

_Sir, you’re going to have to leave now._

_The Hell I will. I – Frerin!_

_He’s reopened his wounds. Shock. Get me the gelofusine. And get him out of here._

 

Thorin had walked out of the hospital before he realised it, letting his feet take him where they would. His destination didn’t matter – if Frerin was around to joke about it, they’d have commented that Thorin would have gotten lost even with a specific destination in mind. But Frerin wasn’t around to joke about it. Frerin was confined to a hospital bed, clinging to life and with the distinct possibility of waking with brain damage.

 

They’d all deal with it, if so. But _it shouldn’t have happened in the first place_.

 

Thorin felt like punching something. He felt like tearing at his hair and screaming at the sky. How had this even happened? How had Azog known where to find Frerin?

 

How could Thorin have let this happen?

 

Before he knew it, he found himself in front of a familiar door, and then behind that familiar door. He blinked at a cup of tea, and wondered how it had made its way into his hand. Oddly enough, he knew that the china was over several decades old, passed down through generations of family.

 

He himself had no family heirlooms of his own. All that had been snatched away from the same man that had put Frerin in hospital.

 

“Tell me,” said Bilbo.

 

* * *

“But the doctors say they’ll be alright after loads of rest.”

 

Thorin didn’t look up. “It’s my fault.”

 

He felt Bilbo approach, and hunched in on himself further. Everything he’d ever done had led his family from bad to worse. If he’d only said yes to Azog, if only he’d kept his head down… maybe none of this would’ve happened. If it hadn’t been for Thorin, then maybe his parents would’ve met their youngest grandchild.

 

“Stop being so stupid,” Bilbo snapped, and Thorin realised he’d said all that out loud. “You can’t possibly blame yourself for that.”

 

“I don’t see why I can’t,” he replied stiffly. He clenched his right hand, the same hand he’d used to stab Azog in the arm. The same hand he’d thought he’d used to kill the crime lord.

 

But Azog wasn’t dead. And he was coming after them all. Thorin couldn’t allow that.

 

“Frerin wouldn’t be very happy if they saw you like this.”

 

“Well, it’s very likely they’ll not be able to see at all,” he snapped. “So excuse me if I don’t give a damn.”

 

Thorin could tell by the pointed silence that Bilbo had pressed his lips together in annoyance. It was a mark of how well he already knew the other man – how long they’d stayed here. Too long. No wonder how they’d been found out.

 

He sighed. If he was going to leave, he’d at least have them part on good terms. No matter how much it hurt. “I’m… sorry, Bilbo. That wasn’t necessary.”

 

There was no reply, and Thorin wondered what would happen when he actually said goodbye. To think, he’d once thought that he’d be willing to stay here, in Bag End, with a grocer-slash-mayor. But that was back before life had brought him sharply back to reality. He couldn’t stay.

 

He couldn’t stay.

 

“Come,” Bilbo said, taking up his hand and tugging on it.

 

Thorin went. He followed quietly as Bilbo led him through the house, only peripherally aware that the smaller man was shooting occasional worried looks up at him. He charted their progress not with his eyes, but by the changing textures under his feet (Bilbo had Rules about shoes in his home). First the parquet, then cold tile of the receiving room, and then varying types of carpets, from the wool along the hallway to what felt like silk in Bilbo’s bedroom.

 

Hang on. Bilbo’s bedroom?

 

Quite without his knowledge, his scarf had been unknotted and fell to the carpet silently. Soft, slender fingers began work on the buttons of his shirt, and Thorin finally reacted, placing his hands over Bilbo’s to still them. “What are you –”

 

“Ssh.” Bilbo smiled at him. His hands were flat against Thorin’s chest as is physically trying to suppress the numbness there. It didn’t work. “Just let me help.”

 

It took another moment for Thorin to lower his hands; Bilbo met his eyes with another smile before setting to work. It didn’t take him long to completely divest Thorin of his clothes. All the taller man had to do was move when it was directed of him, and step out of his jeans and pants.

 

For reasons he couldn’t explain, his face heated when Bilbo gazed at him and shuddered out a breath.

 

Bilbo was just as uncaring about his own clothes as he had been with Thorin’s. He unhooked his (midnight blue) suspenders first and then dropped his trousers without preamble. When he fully unbuttoned his white blouse, it became obvious that he was wearing no pants. He looked up at the soft sound Thorin made, and whatever Bilbo saw in his face made him step forward and press their lips together. Cool, gentle hands guided them both, presumably to Bilbo’s four poster as they continued kissing slowly, separating when Bilbo’s knees hit the bed and he sat. To Thorin, his eyes seemed almost ethereal in the semi-darkness.

 

Bilbo pulled him down, and Thorin went gladly.

 

Bilbo took control. He settled Thorin onto his back, he prepared himself, he rocked his body downwards to join them. He bit his lip when Thorin grasped his waist instinctively, too-tightly. He was still wearing his shirt, and when the silky material slipped off one shoulder, Thorin’s chest grew tight at the way the moonlight made Bilbo’s skin _glow_. It was enchanting.

 

It was only when Bilbo gasped out, “ _Thorin_ ”, though, that he came back to himself with a snap.

 

He _moved_ , flipped Bilbo over onto his back. Now he chose the pace, moving with slow, deliberate strokes. He held Bilbo’s hips up to keep him gasping and squirming at every thrust. Bilbo reached for Thorin, slipping a hand behind his neck and resting their foreheads together.

 

“Bilbo,” he whispered.

 

“Ssh.” The small man undulated against him, his free hand smoothing down Thorin’s back. “Let yourself go. Let me help.”

 

And Thorin… did.

 

He would take the time to taste every inch of Bilbo’s wonderfully soft body – he would do that later. For now he slipped his tongue past Bilbo’s lips, curling it against his teeth before pulling back a bit to bite at his plump lower lip. His beard was likely scratching Bilbo’s smooth skin as he turned his attention to the man’s neck; Bilbo just cried out and clutched at him all the tighter. Thorin hissed as fingernails scored down his back, leaving raised skin in their wake.

 

Oh, but this was heady and all-consuming, this was sweet fire coursing through his veins and burning him from within. He didn’t think he could find all this in the arms of a simple grocer from the Shire. He didn’t think, he didn’t think he could be _happy_. He didn’t think he could fall in lo –

_Ohh,_ fuck, fuck –

 

He regained his wits enough to soothe the bite he’d bestowed onto Bilbo’s collarbone, remaining buried within the other man while he reached between them to finish Bilbo off. The gasps huffed into his ears were music, and Thorin couldn’t stop a breathless laugh of triumph when warm wetness spread against his stomach. Bilbo whispered his name in a broken mantra throughout it all.

 

They used Bilbo’s shirt to clean off; Thorin noted with interest that Bilbo’s shoulders looked doubly inviting completely bare. Hardly conscious of doing so, he reached out and pressed a thumb to the angry mark he’d left on pale skin. There was a hiss, and he raised his gaze.

 

Bilbo held out his arms.

 

Thorin went.

 

* * *

Thorin placed a kiss on Bilbo’s smooth brow and smiled a little when the man sighed in his sleep.

 

He couldn’t stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little later than usual. I had a nap and then had to go for dinner straight after exercising. Etc etc.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the little smutlet. I'm quite proud of it, tbh.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The note changes everything.

He was very warm.

 

Bilbo stretched sleepily, groaning in delight at the pleasant burn in his muscles. Ah, he’d forgotten how _good_ this felt – all of it. The sex, the morning after, the happy flutters in his chest. His clean sheets felt heavenly as they slid against his skin. Thorin had been kind enough to tuck him in before leaving, it seemed; he’d slept in this bed for long enough to know how the mattress depressed with more than one body in it, and right now he was its only occupant.

 

That was alright. Likely Thorin had gone to the hospital to see Frerin; Bilbo would join them soon enough. After breakfast. Or brunch, if he could be bothered to get up.

 

Time passed in dollops, and by the time Bilbo was properly awake, it was almost noon. Goodness. He’d not had a lie in like that in years – except in cases of being bedridden with some horrid cold.

 

He took his lunch at the Green Dragon. Bofur had taken one look at him and had demanded time off so he could interrogate Bilbo. In point of fact, it wasn’t _really_ an interrogation. Bilbo gave up the information freely (though he didn’t necessarily burden Bofur with any real details) and Bofur was delighted that his friend had ‘finally gotten some’, and then he couldn’t wait to tell ‘that Gamgee bloke’.

 

Bilbo narrowed his eyes over his apple cider. “What d’you mean by that, exactly?”

 

“Ohhh… only that a few of us had wagers on when you and Thorin would finally get your act together. We were worried we’d have to come up with some sort of plan.”

 

“Surely a plan would skew the results of your wager.”

 

He was treated to a wide grin. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?” Bofur winked at him before replacing the chair he’d been sitting on. His fifteen minutes were up, apparently.

 

Bilbo merely shook his head and continued with his lunch. He was only a little annoyed that his love life was the subject of a betting pool – but the fact that he now _had_ a love life sort of put a comforting blanket over everything. He sighed and hoped he didn’t looked like a love lost fool. He couldn’t wait to see Thorin next.

 

His plans were sped up for him when his phone rang. It was Dís, oddly enough.

 

“Come to the hospital,” she said, and Bilbo frowned.

* * *

_It was a quiet morning. But, when you ran a grocery store in a (mostly) sleepy town, most days were quiet._

_Usually Bilbo would be found behind the counter, scribbling away in his latest notebook as Minty dozed by his feet. Today his pencil was in his hand but unmoving, as he was gazing amusedly at Thorin as the man tried to teach Minty to shake hands._

_He honestly couldn’t hold in his snort when Minty bashed Thorin in the face with one huge paw._

_“Have you not heard of the saying ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks’?” He snickered at Thorin’s glare. “Not that Minty is that old, truth be told.”_

_“How old is she?”_

_“Only three. I got her to keep me company after my old dog, Myrtle, died.”_

_“I’m sorry. How’d she die?”_

_Bilbo took a breath. His mood had abruptly deflated. “I’d rather not talk about it.”_   
  


_“Sorry.”_

_“No it’s… it’s not your fault.” And it wasn’t. Myrtle had been a slap in the face by a cocky so-and-so who called himself the Goblin King. Myrtle had been a lovely Corgi, a bit on the large side, and by ‘dognapping’ her and sending her to Bilbo’s home in little pieces, the rival gang leader hoped to convey that he could ‘get to Bilbo’._

_Bilbo’s reply had been swift. The reason why no one talked about the Goblins any more was because he had left them splintered three years ago._

_But all this was not fit for Thorin’s ears. Through his conversations with the man – and it had taken a long time for Thorin to trust him enough to have such conversations – Bilbo had found out the reason behind Thorin’ and his Company’s nomadic lifestyle. It had not endeared Thorin to gangsters of any kind, and Bilbo had a feeling that revealing his true vocation would not endear him to Thorin._

_Ah well. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him._

_A gentle touch on his elbow pulled Bilbo out of his thoughts. “You alright?”_

_“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”_

_Thorin cast a doubtful look at him, clearly disbelieving._

_“No, really. I was just – I was thinking about old times. Things were simpler then. Still had my family and everything.”_

_The grip on his elbow tightened briefly. “I understand. I’m still glad I have my siblings with me. Don’t know what I’d do without them.”_

_“And I don’t know what I’d do with them.” His laugh was weak, at best. “Siblings, I mean.”_

_“Each family is different,” Thorin said. His thumb stroked the inside of Bilbo’s elbow just under his folded sleeve in an unconscious motion. Or Bilbo assumed it was unconscious. “I myself know that Dís and Frerin would do anything, anything, to keep our family happy and safe. And I’d…”_

_Bilbo’s breath hitched. “You’d…?”_

_Thorin met his eyes solidly. “I’d do the same.”_

 

* * *

_Dís,_

_I’m sorry. There’s something I must do… if I can spare you and our family any more pain, I’d do it. You know I would. If I’m not back in a week, leave._

_All my love,_

_Thorin._

_Tell Bilbo I’m sorry._

* * *

“Bilbo. We know what happened.”

 

“Alright.”

 

Bofur frowned. His plum-and-gold skirt flared around his knees as he stalked across the room. “Then what are you doing here?”

 

“I’ve just made sure that the police are doing what they can – although they really can’t do much until after 48 hours. And now I have to see if I can get someone to come into the store for the weekend – it’s terribly inconvenient…”

 

“Bilbo. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

 

Bilbo laughed, but it sounded more like a series of hiccups. “I have to – I have to do damage control.”

 

“ _You’re_ damaged!” For the first time since they’d met each other, Bofur looked properly angry. “I saw you this morning, before we all found out Thorin had left. You were _happy_ and now – now you’re hurting and I’ve no idea how I’m supposed to help.”

 

“You saw me in the afternoon. Lunchtime.”

 

“Lad –”

 

He sighed and let his head fall into one hand, rubbing his forehead. “Just leave it, Bofur. I’m fine.”

 

“Feckin’ bullshit.”

 

“Bofur…” Bilbo said warningly, his headache throbbing.

 

Hamfast strode in. “We’ve got him.”

 

“What?”

 

“Thorin. We know where he is.”

 

Bofur frowned suspiciously at the gardener. “How do you know that?”

 

“That’s not important right now,” Bilbo said dismissively – even though he really didn’t have a reason to keep up the farce any more. There was no Thorin around to keep his secret from… But there was something about the expression on Hamfast’s face that made it clear there was something unsavoury afoot. “What is it? Where is he?”

 

Instead of a verbal answer, he was handed a mobile. It was open to the latest text, from a private number. Bilbo dropped the phone as soon as he read the short, three-word message.

_Thank you, shorty_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.
> 
> (I'm on holiday in New Zealand! =D It's v nice here, if a little cold. The update days will remain the same.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the cat is out of the bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of drug use/distribution, violence.

“Thorin Durin, as I live and breathe.” The scarred man smirked. “And I am still alive. Perhaps you should double-check after stabbing someone.”

 

“I managed to do some damage,” Thorin snarled, glaring at the stump that was left of Azog’s left arm, but the crime lord just laughed. “Let me go, Azog. Fight me like a man.”

 

His laugh was ugly. Almost as ugly as he was. “Let you go? When I’ve got you right where I want you?” His smile took on a cruel edge that made Thorin’s teeth hurt. “And when you’ve brought me such a nice gift?”

 

What gift –

 

Azog laughed and waved his remaining hand. The two Orcs by the doors opened them and in stepped… Bilbo.

 

He looked unhappy and worried, but Thorin was quite aware that the other man had walked in of his own free will. Unlike Thorin, Bilbo’s hands were not bound.

 

“Thorin, are you alright?” he asked urgently.

 

Conflicting emotions tore through Thorin; the sharpest was the worry and the pained hope that this wasn’t what it looked like. Please, please let it not be what it looked like.

 

“What are you doing here?” If – if he’d come to save Thorin, then he was a complete fool.

 

Apparently Bilbo _was_ a complete fool, because Azog smirked and said, “This shorty? He’s here to bargain for your life.”

 

With _what_? How could Bilbo possibly deal with a ruthless gangster like Azog? Why was Azog even entertaining this farce?

 

“Look, Thorin, there’s something I need to –”

 

“If you’re wondering why I’ve not just killed him…” Azog walked towards Bilbo. “Well, even I respect my colleagues. Unnaturally short as they may be.”

 

Thorin’s mouth dropped open.

 

“I am not your _colleague_ ,” Bilbo spat, scowling.

 

Something splintered in Thorin’s chest. If he hadn’t already been on his knees, he’d have fallen.

 

“Come now, Baggins. Your ‘Hobbits’ are an… admirable group. Even I think you’ve gone a good job with them. Although you could be so much more if you just joined me.”

 

Without really being aware of doing so, Thorin held his breath as he watched Azog rest a heavy hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. The (much) shorter man was silent for a long time. Almost too long.

 

“If you think,” Bilbo said finally, voice low with fury, “if you think that I’m going to join someone who’s in league with the same people that assassinated my _mother_ –”

 

“Oh, Bilbo,” cooed a new voice. “And here I thought you’d forgotten us.”

 

Thorin had never heard such an ugly tone from Bilbo’s throat. “ _Warg_.”

 

The woman stepped out of the shadows. She was every bit as pale as Azog – with the addition of white hair, white pumps, and white faux fur coat. He stepped away from Bilbo so he could approach her, and she draped herself over the crime lord. They made a sickening picture.

 

“Besides, ‘assassinate’ is such a… strong word.”

 

“Butcher might be more appropriate. You ripped out her throat. You didn’t need to cut her open.”

 

Warg shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. “My Wolves might have been a little eager. Can’t blame them.”

 

Bilbo snarled wordlessly and took an angry step forward.

 

“Enough.” All traces of amusement were gone from Azog’s face. “If you’re not going to surrender control of Hobbiton to me, what exactly do you hope to trade for your lover’s life?”

 

Bilbo’s gaze flitted to Thorin and then back to Azog, whipcord quick.

 

“I’m going to give you a choice.”

 

“Oh, please.” Azog scoffed and admired the shine of his metal claw. “Are you honestly trying to threaten me? You know this isn’t a movie, right, Baggins? More than that, you have _nothing_. No weapons, no way to challenge me. I can crush you without a thought.”

 

Thorin watched Bilbo lift his chin. “And yet you’ve left me and mine alone.”

 

Another scoff. “As I said, respect. Undeserved respect, as it turns out.” He smiled and revealed a mouth half-full of metal teeth. “I’ll be sure to pay a visit to your family very soon. Your entire family. Gypsies included.”

 

Bilbo remained controlled. “Tell me, Azog,” he began conversationally, and Thorin straightened, paying careful attention. “Who supplied your latest heroin shipment?”

 

It was as odd as ever to see the eyebrowless Azog frown. “Greyhame. But that doesn’t –”

 

Bilbo smiled. “He’s an old friend of the family. Fond of my mother. Fond of me.”

 

“What did you do.”

 

“Poison, of course.” A chill settled deep in Thorin’s bones at this careless tone. “But I’m not going to tell you what poison exactly, because I’m not stupid.”

 

Azog growled. “You certainly are, if you think you’re going to get out of this alive.”

 

“Oh, like you are?”

 

Silence. “Tell me what deal you want.”

 

“Life for a life. You give me Thorin. I give you the antidote.”

 

Stupid plan, stupid plan, stupid plan –

 

“Nothing can stop me from killing the both of you right here, right now, and taking the antidote after.”

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You already know I don’t have weapons. You can ask your goons; I’m not carrying any sort of antidote.”

 

The bald man rubbed the puffy skin just above his metal forearm, as if it pained him. “If you poisoned the drugs,” he said slowly, “why aren’t I dead already? And my men?”

 

“If you think I’m going to kill you outright, and without trying to extort you, you’re stupider than even I imagined.” It wasn’t clear if the pitying look on Bilbo’s face was part of an act or not. Thorin couldn’t tell.

 

Azog obviously thought _he_ could. “I am going to gut him first,” he said, pointing at Thorin. “I’m going to leave him just alive enough to watch as I rip your head off your shoulders with my bare hands.”

 

Bilbo _sighed_. Thorin looked on with wide eyes as Bilbo stared steadily back at Azog and placed his hands on his hips. “Is that your decision?”

 

“I am going to kill every one of you curly-haired inbreeds. I swear I will.”

 

“Fine,” Bilbo said tiredly, and nodded.

 

Azog gurgled, blood spurting from the wound in his neck.

 

Warg smiled grimly and roughly yanked her knife out to stab him again.

 

Thorin –

 

To his eternal shame, Thorin fainted.

* * *

“I guess you don’t want to talk to me, huh?”

 

Thorin closed his eyes. He was too tired for this. Why had he regained consciousness? “Do I have a choice?”

 

“You want me to leave, I’ll leave. I just thought you deserved an explanation.”

 

He wanted to laugh. “I deserve more than that.” He deserved the truth, right from the beginning. But he couldn’t deny that he wanted to know exactly what the fuck was going on, not just the snippets the policewoman had been allowed to tell him. (And even the fact that there was still a police force that obviously _looked the other way_ was enraging to Thorin.) “But fine. Start with Azog.”

 

Bilbo leaned against the trunk of one of the squad cars, crossing his arms over his chest in a blithe motion. “Azog’s dead. Most of his Orcs will follow suit within the week, if all goes to plan.”

 

“And what exactly was this plan of yours?” It wasn’t strictly need-to-know, but Thorin couldn’t deny that he was morbidly curious to hear more about it.

 

“Well, as I said, the heroin was poisoned. I knew for a fact that Azog and his underlings sampled the wares frequently, so it was a safe bet that we could get significant amounts in their systems.”

 

“What about all the innocent people they sold the drugs to?” Thorin demanded, ignoring the fact that he’d just referred to heroin addicts as innocents.

 

Bilbo smiled at him sardonically. “Azog very much diluted the heroin he distributed. Makes for a better profit margin, you see, and the people he sold to aren’t really in any condition to complain. If they did, well. You can imagine what happened to them.”

 

He could. He’d seen firsthand the outcomes of Azog’s cruelty.

 

“Rest assured, Thorin, that any poison that ends up in their bloodstream can’t do any more damage than heroin already has.”

 

Thorin scowled. He was being mocked – whether intentionally or not – and he didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t appreciate having his feelings toyed with.

 

“Why?” he asked, after the silence had stretched between them.

 

“Why what?” Bilbo countered, though Thorin could see his wary expression even in the gloom.

 

“Why the fuck are you involved in all this? With gangsters and, and… all this?”

 

Slowly, Bilbo uncrossed his arms and rubbed his cheeks. “It’s a family business.”

 

Thorin snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

“It’s true.” There was nothing but desperate earnestness in Bilbo’s hazel eyes. “My parents were in charge before me. This life is all I’ve ever known.”

 

“And yet you look nothing like the part.”

 

“I’m more the grocer, I know.” He bit his lip. “I never really wanted the job. But I had responsibilities, and I just… grew into it. It’s…” His tone turned hesitant. “It’s really not as bad as all that, Thorin.”

 

He rolled his eyes. Sure.

 

“I mean it! Yes, we deal in drugs, but we also control the farming output of this entire city. We keep the economy of the Shire moving. We’re not _evil_ … or we try not to be.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Thorin said impatiently. “You sell magic mushrooms alongside your regular ones. Very saint-like of you.”

 

“Thorin.” Bilbo’s voice was barely a whisper, and broken. “I am not like him. I’m not Azog.”

 

Thorin shook his head impatiently. He didn’t care about this (he _didn’t_ ). There were still questions. “How did you know where to find me?”

 

“Azog can’t – couldn’t – resist gloating. We’d been keeping tabs on his whereabouts – he was lurking around the area for about a month.”

 

A month – “And you couldn’t have mentioned this earlier? You – you could’ve prevented Frerin’s –”

 

“You’d have wanted to know where I’d gotten the information, Thorin. I wasn’t ready for that conversation.” He looked away. “Still am not.”

 

“I don’t fucking care!” Thorin surged to his feet, ignoring the pain that flared up his side. “Frerin’s in hospital, Bilbo, in case you hadn’t noticed. You could’ve prevented that.”

 

“I tried!” Bilbo shouted back. “But my security isn’t perfect. I lost two of my cousins the night Frerin disappeared. One died outright, the other hung on for hours. I held her hand as she stuttered apologies that she wasn’t quick enough.”

 

This was fucking ridiculous. Bilbo was the one at fault here. Thorin would not be made to feel badly about this situation when he was clearly the victim. (That did not change the fact that he wanted to take Bilbo into his arms and apologise. He wanted Bilbo to apologise as well. He wanted to comfort and be comforted, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not with Bilbo being who he was. Not with all the lies that lay festering between them.)

 

“The police said that Warg got away,” Thorin said slowly. If he’d been ignorant about Bilbo’s ‘status’, he’d have thought she’d genuinely escaped. Now he had to wonder.

 

Bilbo took a measured breath. “She was responsible for the murder of my mother. Some people say that she was the one who held the knife. But it doesn’t matter. This was more important.”

 

“Bilbo, you can’t possibly let her go just because of –”

 

“Azog is dangerous, Thorin,” Bilbo snapped. “Or he was. I’d already been planning this since before you arrived in Hobbiton, so don’t think for a second that I did this just for you.”

 

A chill settled in Thorin’s bones. This was not the same, kindly man who had cuddled with his nephews in front of the fire and had freely offered them all a place to live. This was not the same small man who puttered around a tiny grocers just down the road from his home. This was not even the same man who he’d fucked into the mattress.

 

This was a mob boss. This was a man in charge of an entire city. This was a man who had given the order for drugs – which _he_ distributed – to be laced with poison. This was a man who’d waved away a murder of a family member just to ensure the death of his rival – and now Thorin had to wonder if Azog had been dangerous, or just dangerous to Bilbo.

 

He didn’t know what to think, especially when Bilbo sighed and rubbed at his eye, suddenly back to being small and harmless-looking.

 

“I’m sorry. You were a big reason for me doing what I did. I couldn’t… I didn’t want to lose you.”

 

Thorin’s fist clenched, fingernails digging into his palm. “What makes you think I was yours to lose?”

 

Bilbo recoiled.

 

“You should have told me.”

 

“And how would I have done that, Thorin?”

 

“You just – you should have found a way. You know how I feel about you people!”

 

“ _You people_?”

 

Thorin ignored this. Ignored the guilt. “Gangsters are the reason my parents and my grandfather are dead, and why Frerin is almost dead. Gangsters are why I lost my job. Gangsters are the cause of Fíli and Kíli and my brother and sister and everyone I love being forced to live as fucking gypsies – we have no _home_ , because of Azog and people like him. People like you.”

 

“I’m nothing like him. I’ve offered you a place to live, I’ve offered you _all_ a place to live. I want you here. I want my home to be yours. _I_ _love you_.”

 

Bilbo stepped forward at this, pressing into Thorin’s personal space and tiptoeing to seal their lips together. It was the embodiment of desperation and Thorin, Thorin curled his hands into Bilbo’s starched collar.

 

Pushed him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *runs away*


	9. Chapter 9

He’d ruined it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, we end.

Needless to say, he’d quit his job at the grocer’s. He didn’t know if Bilbo had hired a replacement. He didn’t want to know.

 

No, now Thorin worked at the jeweller’s. He was absolutely useless behind the counter (too unfriendly a temperament, although that hadn’t stopped a certain –), but he’d made a few preliminary sketches for Adamanta Chubb-Took, and she’d been sufficiently impressed by his work to have him designing and actually making jewellery, never mind that he had next to no experience.

 

If he’d had his way, he wouldn’t have been working at all. He’d be on the road, with his family, as they had done all this time. There was, however, the obvious snag of Frerin still being hooked up to several machines, and the fact that those machines and medicines and things still needed to be paid for.

 

So Thorin sat in the room he’d been staying in since they’d been welcomed into the (gangster-infested) city. He waited.

 

The door creaked open. Thorin didn’t turn away from the window, and merely grunted when a small body climbed up onto his lap. He let Fíli rest his head against his shoulder.

 

Like his mother, the boy didn’t beat about the bush. “You love Mister Baggins, don’t you? Like Ma loves Da?”

 

He sighed. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Fíli.”

 

“How come?”

 

Thorin didn’t answer. Perhaps if he kept silent, he wouldn’t have to.

 

“Don’t you make each other happy?”

 

Of course, he’d forgotten who it was asking the questions. Fíli was an insufferably curious child, second only to Kíli. They got _that_ from Frerin, unfortunately.

 

Ah, Frerin. His and Dís’ sibling was well on the way to recovery, even if they could not yet walk. Apparently surgery was an option in fixing their eyesight, although Doctor What’s-His-Name wanted to wait and see if it improved on its own first. Thorin tried to ignore the feeling that this was some sort of delaying tactic. Not everything was about _him_.

 

Dís and Frerin had been apprised of the situation. Neither was helpful in helping settle his chaotic thoughts. He didn’t know if he should focus on the love (and it was, it _was_ love) he felt for Bilbo, or the hate (burning bright in his blood) born of the lies and deceit. Even his oldest friends, Balin and Dwalin, refused to broach the subject with him.

_“It’s your decision to make, Thorin.”_

_Dwalin’s massive hand thumped him on one shoulder. “Whatever it is, we’ll honour it.”_

 

Thorin supposed that that was comforting. It didn’t help, though.

 

“Uncle Thorin?”

 

He sighed. “He made me happy, Fíli. Before.”

 

“Before y’found out he’s a gangster?”

 

Thorin frowned. How had – “Your Ma told you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you’re alright with that?” As he recalled, Fíli had taken the longest to warm up to Bilbo… though they’d just assumed it was because Kíli’s attention had rather shifted from his older brother to the (not-) grocer.

 

Fíli shrugged, his hands fisting in Thorin’s shirt. “Doesn’t matter. He’s nice. Treats us all real good.” Blue eyes glanced up at him. “Made you smile, too.”

 

Thorin’s mouth tightened and he pulled his nephew close. “Yeah. He did.”

 

He did.

 

(It did not change who _he_ was though. It did not change the fact that murders and robberies and drug dealing had likely happened here, it did not change the fact that these were _crimes_. It did not change the fact that every fibre of Thorin’s being was against this idea – he was not as forgiving as the rest of his family, it seemed.)

 

(But things could change. People could change. Perhaps it was time to admit that _he_ , that Bilbo, had changed Thorin… and that perhaps Thorin could change Bilbo.)

 

They were silent, and Thorin hummed an old lullaby as he carded his fingers through flaxen hair.

 

“Uncle Thorin?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Will Mister Baggins become Uncle Baggins now?”

 

He closed his eyes. “Maybe in a few years, Fíli.”

* * *

Maybe.

 

* * *

Thorin raised a hand to knock on the door – rather ignoring the bell-pull – and smiled a little at the joyful barking this produced. He absently noted that there was a mark scratched into the green paint of the door, revealing the blue beneath it, before he heard Bilbo’s voice. His heart may or may not have quickened its beat.

 

“No! Sit! Don’t give me that, you know perfectly well you’ve been horrid this morning. Just a moment, please! It’s this blasted dog, I –” The door opened and revealed Bilbo struggling to hold Minty back by her collar. She only seemed to grow more excited with the addition of being able to see Thorin instead of merely smelling him. “Minty! I’m so sorry –” Bilbo cut himself off abruptly. He’d looked up.

 

Thorin swallowed. “Trouble with Minty?” he asked lightly.

 

“Absolutely out of control.” Bilbo had been gawping, but managed to collect himself. He’d crossed his arms, presumably to hide his shaking hands. “Doesn’t respect me anymore. Can’t imagine why.”

 

“You’re not firm enough with her.” Pushing aside the jack hammering of his heart for the meantime, Thorin looked sternly at Minty. “Bed,” he commanded, and she went, still noisily panting. She curled in her basket and stared at the two of them. Her tail wagged.

 

“Traitor.” He scowled at the dog and then turned it to Thorin. “I hate it when you do that.”

 

Carefully, slowly, Thorin reached out to touch his waist. “No, you don’t.”

 

Bilbo stepped close. His hair tickled Thorin’s chin. “No,” he sighed. “I don’t.”

 

The door clicked closed, the bell over it jangling in its perpetually friendly fashion. It felt exceedingly _right_ to have Bilbo here; he fit like he was made to be held in Thorin’s arms. Bilbo’s small fingers were bunched into fists at the small of his back, and Thorin could clearly remember the feel of them on his bare skin.

 

He had to admit, a small part of him was disappointed. He had thought that Bilbo would join him and leave this place. But be could understand Bilbo's reasoning at least.

 

Loyalty. Honour. A willing heart. Even he could ask no more than that.

 

He laid a kiss to Bilbo’s ear, feelings the tremors under his palms.

 

“We’ll try,” Thorin whispered.

 

Bilbo nodded. “We’ll try.”

 

* * *

 

 

_2 years later_

 

Thorin suspected something was afoot as soon as he put the key into the door. There was no frantic scratch of claws on tile, and when he opened the door, there was no overenthusiastic Minty barely keeping behaved under his stern eye.

 

His misgivings grew when he saw a bag by the umbrella stand as he toed off his shoes. It was nice enough; not bulky, made of leather in earthy tones of brown and green, and had Bilbo’s name all over it. Not literally.

 

Acutely missing the near-dangerous excitement of a boisterous golden retriever about his legs, Thorin stepped further into their home. It was immaculate, but only because yesterday had been Cleaning Day. Upon Thorin’s moving in, Bilbo had been especially delighted that he no longer had to struggle with that particular chore, or with Garbage Morning.

 

Thorin found the short man by the fireplace, fiddling with something on the mantelpiece.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Bilbo jumped, but turned quickly with a smile. “No kiss?”

 

“No Minty?” Thorin did nevertheless step forward, easily – far too easily – obeying Bilbo’s request. Bilbo’s tongue had barely flicked out to taste Thorin’s mouth before Thorin pulled away. He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

 

“Minty is um, Minty’s at your sister’s.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because the boys both love her, and she loves them. She’s put on weight since you all came into our lives, that’s for sure.”

 

Thorin would have let this slide – if he hadn’t been who he was. “You’re not telling me something.”

 

“I’m putting off telling you. There’s a difference. Can we have tea first?”

 

“No.”

 

Bilbo bit his lip and Thorin took pity on him enough to steer the both of them onto the overstuffed (and disgustingly floral) couch. He grew uneasy as Bilbo fidgeted and fretted, finally grabbing small hands between his before Bilbo picked the skin around his fingernail raw.

 

“Deep breath,” he advised. “Start at the beginning.”

 

He was treated to a thin smile that disappeared quickly. “I am – I should’ve discussed this with you earlier, but I think it was the right thing to do.”

 

Alarm bells were ringing. Thorin didn’t interrupt, because he’d known Bilbo for long enough to know that he’d clam up.

 

“Drogo’s all grown up now. That sounds… really patronising, but it’s true. He’s the best of us, and I really think he’ll do well. Certainly with Prim by his side; it’s a good thing they’ve gotten married. Do you think they liked the gift we gave them?”

 

Thorin’s left eyelid twitched. “I was assured numerous times that we needn’t have gone through the trouble.”

 

“Hmm.” Bilbo continued chewing on his bottom lip, studiously avoiding Thorin’s gaze. “Even if they weren’t happy with it, I’m sure they’ll appreciate the second gift.”

 

“Second gift?”

 

“The house.”

 

“You –” Thorin made a choked noise. “You _bought_ them a house?”

 

“Not… exactly.” Hazel eyes, wide and earnest and worried, finally met his. “I gave them this one.”

 

That – what? That didn’t make sense. Was Bilbo even aware that he’d said what he said – and that what he’d said was complete nonsense?

 

Bilbo sighed, and did something with his hands so that he was now cradling Thorin’s instead of the other way around. The way he held himself made Thorin instantly more alert than he’d been in years – it took him a moment to realise that he was bracing for bad news.

 

“I’ve always wanted to see the world.”

 

“You’ve –”

 

“Hear me out.”

 

He bit his tongue and sat back.

 

“Drogo’s taking over. I’ve been making sure he’ll be ready for the past one-and-a-half years. I’m giving this house to him and Prim so they can start their life anew. I’ve given Minty to Fíli and Kíli because they can actually take care of her. I’ve sold the grocery store so I can leave Hobbiton with you.”

 

Thorin’s palms were sweating.

 

“If you thought I hadn’t noticed how much you hated – _hate_ – what I do, you were wrong. I knew.” The corner of Bilbo’s mouth lifted in a poor attempt at a smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t speed things up. I had my responsibilities to see to.”

 

“You can’t.”

 

“What?”

 

He cleared his throat, feeling that it was suddenly dry and cracked. “You can’t do this, Bilbo. You can’t up and leave just because – just because I’m not comfortable with your lifestyle.”

 

“I’m not only doing it for that reason.” He rattled out a breath. “When I was a child I wanted to be away from here, having adventures. When I was a little older and aware of my family, I wanted to blend into the background. I’ve never had that. But now I can.”

 

He couldn’t look at Bilbo; consequently, he felt rather than saw the hand on his cheek and the accompanying thumb tracing underneath one eye.

 

“I was rather hoping you’d join me.”

 

 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you guys liked the ride.
> 
> I'm glad I finished this in advance. Not in a great place. Might explain why I'm not posting much otherwise.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to alkjira, Elenothar, and leinthalexandra for reading through. Um, for anyone who's read Courting Habits, this won't be anywhere near as detailed - just putting it out there that I'm actually very lazy.
> 
>  ~~This'll update every Wednesday and Saturday.~~ Last update will be **tomorrow**.


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